


Cigarettes

by EuterpesChild



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cigarettes, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Poor Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8192813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EuterpesChild/pseuds/EuterpesChild
Summary: Originally written in 2013 and posted to deviantArt.Sherlock needs cigarettes, but John has hidden them in the safest place he knows. Unfortunately, they won't be safe for long...





	

Sherlock was annoyed. Seriously annoyed. He had gotten up in a foul mood because he'd fallen off the bed in the middle of the night, and the fact that he had run out of nicotine patches and that there were no new cases for him had done nothing to improve his mood.  
Sherlock stormed into the living room, his dressing gown hanging off one shoulder. "Give me some," he growled at John. John looked up from his paper.  
"Give you some what?" he asked.  
"You know what I mean."  
John folded his paper and stuck in the side of his armchair. "No," he said firmly. "No, Sherlock, we agreed: one month. It's barely been a week and a half."  
"I need some," Sherlock said angrily. "No patches, no case, give me the package I know you're hiding."  
"Sherlock, you said yourself it's impossible to retain a smoking habit in London," John reasoned, standing and starting to clear away the remains of his breakfast. Sherlock had refused to eat anything.  
"I know you have them somewhere," Sherlock said, turning sharply. "I'll find them if it takes the whole day." Sherlock stormed off and John could hear him throwing things and examining every inch of his bedroom. John sighed, put the dishes in the sink, and turned on the telly to see if there was any interesting news.  
  
John spent the morning trying to watch telly, and being distracted by the sounds of Sherlock cursing, throwing things, and generally stomping around the house in search of his cigarettes. It was just about lunchtime when Sherlock finally stormed into the living room. After making the room more of a disaster than it usually was, he stood squarely in front of John with an accusatory look on his face. John looked back at him. "You're blocking the telly." Sherlock grabbed the remote off the couch and turned it off without looking. He continued to stare at John. Now a bit disconcerted, John stood, thinking that maybe Sherlock was bothered by him sitting on "Sherlock's" couch. "Did you find any?" John asked cautiously, knowing what the answer was before it came.  
"I searched every inch of this flat," Sherlock growled. "I even went downstairs to ask Mrs. Hudson, but she said she hadn't seen any for three weeks."  
"You were certainly thorough," John remarked.  
"Every part, John," Sherlock said, his voice a bit louder. "Every inch of the bloody flat, and no cigarettes anywhere. I know you have them!" Sherlock spun slowly, examining every inch of the walls around the room. John watched him nervously. Sherlock's eyes came back to rest on John, and they widened slightly as he came to a realization. "Every part…" he repeated. "Except one."  
Before John could do much more than open his mouth, Sherlock had tackled him and pinned every limb to the couch. John tried to move away as the detective began to search his pockets, but it was in vain. With a mumbled protest, he resigned himself to his fate.  
  
Lestrade stood frozen in the doorway to Sherlock's living room. He had come to tell Sherlock about a case that had just come in, and Mrs. Hudson had told him that he and John were both upstairs. His mouth hung open with the words that he had been intending to say as he came up the stairs, and also with the words that he had thought about saying when he came into view of the living room. John was lying pinned down on the couch, and Sherlock was rummaging for something in his clothes. Lestrade wasn't sure he wanted to know what the detective was looking for. He cleared his throat in an attempt to make his presence known. Sherlock ignored him and continued his search, but John heard and looked at the doorway to see who was there. When he saw Lestrade, his face blanched of all color, and then turned a violent shade of red.   
"It's- it's not what it looks like!" John yelped. Lestrade wasn't entirely sure what it looked like, so he wasn't sure that John's words were exactly reassuring. His mouth moved up and down as he tried to think of something to say, but he was saved by Sherlock leaping up, holding a small box triumphantly.   
"Hah!" he crowed. "Hopefully you'll think of a better hiding place next time."   
John mouthed something that looked like, "That was the best hiding place I could think of."   
Lestrade stared at Sherlock for a blank moment before he could think of something to say.

"Find what you were looking for?"

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the cigarettes were up John's butt.
> 
> This is one of my two most popular fics on dA. I'm so sorry.


End file.
